


Eye of the Storm

by Deirdreh



Series: Forføraren [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Character Study, Complicated Relationships, Emotional Baggage, Explicit Sexual Content, Genderfluid Character, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Metaphors, Multi, No beta we die like strong independent bilingual, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Thor: Ragnarok (2017), Pre-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Sibling Incest, Triggers and nightmares, like between Ragnarök and IW there’s a real time difference... it doesn’t happen the same day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-26
Updated: 2019-01-29
Packaged: 2019-07-02 17:40:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15801414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deirdreh/pseuds/Deirdreh
Summary: It is said that in the eye of the storm there’s peace. Thor and Loki; the home they loose and what remains of it.“And so Thor and Loki turn to each other and say, you’re all I have left. And actually, that’s enough.”





	1. to Hang on

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i. Thor and the realization of what he lost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (The poems work for both parts)

 

 

 

 

> _“a place of absence  
>  a thread of miserable union.”  *****_

 

“I’m here.” Loki says in such a condescending tone that Thor wishes he could swipe away that smile of his, or better, rip it off with his own teeth.

Loki is right here, in flesh and bones.

Not an illusion, not an hallucination that in any moment could fade away leaving a no-sensation tickling his fingers and emptiness hollowing his chest. Not a trick but the Trickster himself, the Liesmith, the God of Mischief and  _his_ _little_ brother. Standing in front of him and smiling like if all the passed years were part of a complex and structured jest that finally got its punch-line.

And Thor just feels the urgent necessity of wrapping his hands around his brother and _constrict_  him.  
So he does, he constricts him in his arms and squeezes until he listens an offensed whining-not-whimper.

This time is he the serpent that tightens its body around its prey. And Loki can only shivers, for Thor does not have the slightest intention of letting his prey-brother go. He’s starved, ravenous, desperate and he isn’t letting Loki go, even with the increasing danger of being stabbed or getting at least one of his ribs torn.

However the dagger never comes nor the body vanishes into the nothingness, instead of the figure under him and crushed against his frame remains there. Goes stiff; muscles tensing in complete distress and skin bristling. Hands resting nervously against his chest, breathing hot a soft against his neck and limbs struggling.  
Finally with a doom sigh he gives up and just stays there, for a moment, in which Thor takes it to collects his scent and save it in some part of his… mind or soul. Whatever are those, whatever is left

“Alright.” Loki hisses in a demanding way. “You can unhand me  _now_ , brother.”

Thor separates them, hands remaining in Loki’s shoulders. He gives a last squeeze stabbing him with his eyes and then, just like that, he realeses him and turns to continue with what he was doing.

He feels the emerald burning stare right in his skull as he pours whatever Sakaar liquor in two glasses and when he finishes, he turns facing his brother and offers him a glass. Loki accepts it silently and sits in one of the armchairs near to the bar, Thor follows him.

And then there is just silence. The quiet peaceful-almost-deadly kind of silence that comes after the calamity, an overwhelming dreadful tranquility that sinks them and is capable of take their breath away. Unable to do anything to stop it he stares the liquor as he moves the glass, he says:

“It’s been a couple of though days. The worst I would say.” He pauses, smiling as if the whole situation were the most hilarious. “It has felt like if the old Ymir punched my face repeatedly, with all his fury and seek of revenge.”

Out of the corner of his remaining eye he notices Loki still staring at him as he talks, no expression in his face, he nods and tenses his lips for an instant.  
“Well it is not the first time that you face the consequences of _Odin’s_ actions. And it won’t be the last, as it seems.” Loki has never been one for the sentiment, which meant he sometimes can be a helpless and merciless asshole –in midgardians words–, even when he doesn’t meant to.

Thor gives a long sip to the drink and Loki realizes of his error.

Nevertheless he does nothing and drinks too.

The overwhelming silence falls on them. And Thor can’t do another thing but think. Think in, Mother, and Father, and Volstagg, Frandal, Hogun, Sif, Asgard itself, even Mjolnir and his own eye. Now they were no more than distant memories, almost foreign. It doesn’t seem real, not really; the thought that now those would only live in a heroic feat that is singed in a feast, a tale to tell for the youngsters to be remembered and not forgotten.

Most of them are feasting in Valhalla now, that should be enough to encourage him, for he to be content for them.

Somewhere deep in some hidden part, something that he will not admit out loud even to himself. A sour bile sinks into his stomach and it does not let him feel content.

Loki’s green-burning eyes keeps staring, without qualms or shame, piercing his skull and through his bare mind, where all his thoughts lie; even those wicked that he has always forced to keep them hidden.

But he does not say a word, as the overwhelming silence fills the room and makes them– _Thor–_ drown in the realization of what they have lost.

**.**

 

> “ _Here, in the space of pain,_  
>  _I reach for you,_  
>  _I touch your face, I want you to know_  
>  _I’m alive.”_ *****

 

The days pass. Though there’s no sun or moon to difference, day and night are both the same as if there were not such thing. It doesn’t exist, simply. It’s just an infinite ocean of stars and the dark and the large eternal immutable nothingness of the universe.  
Time goes by, slow, indifferent and everlasting, as the ship travels through the galaxy at light speed.

It’s a contradiction.  
Everything since _that_ day, it is. 

There’s little to do, as the All-Father of the nine-now-eight realms and a God of thunder and Aesir and Vanir and whatever. There’s a lot to do, as a King of a post-apocalyptic kingdom and the desperate people who still remain and who have survived – _barely_. There’s nothing to do in the face of the uncertainty of what destiny will bring to them, take destiny for the dangerous vagueness of future. There’s nothing to do but wait for things to work up in their favor; arrive soon and safe to Midgard, and that the people on there accept and welcome them.

 _There’s nothing to do for what they have lost but to hold on the hope_ , the hope of Iðavöllr being real.

So he sits on the makeshift-throne to be the King and the All-Father of a post-apocalyptic realm who barely survive, to listen the desperate people and try to bring them some kind of comfort and hope, to solve all kinds of problems and meet the needs of his people, and to assure everyone –including himself– that there’s still an Iðavöllr waiting for them.

And before he can realize that it’s a lot even for the mighty All-Father Thor, a Council is formed.  
He doesn’t remember how it started, he just remembers Heimdall giving him his support and advices, the Valkyrie bringing him reports of the state of the ship and the people, and even Loki offering pragmatic solutions and unorthodox ideas –and some of them actually are useful, as for the others, well, they will need some changes. Then the three remaining members of the old council offered their advices and ideas, and then relatives from other council members also joined.

Now there is a whole council operating for the disposition, favor and needs of the kingdom and him. They meet every day, listen the problems, discuss and, sometimes, if the Norns are kind with them, they find some sort of solution. Then they part ways to put in use those solutions and to find new problems.

Today is not different. After the meeting he is needed in the control room to verify the course and to try to communicate with Midgard, the Avengers, Nicholas Fury, anyone. But there’s no answer, they’re still far away and therefore out of reach of any Earth’s satellite.

And so there is that silence again, and the concerned look of the workers –of his people who trust their life on him.

“Do not worry my friends.” He says with the warmest sincere smile he has, chest filling with confidence and strong voice that comes from the pit of his diaphragm. “We are still in course, we have plenty of fuel and while there’s mead for us to share we’ll be just fine.”

And so he watches them relax a little.

“Don’t count on that with the Valkyrie, I would advice Majesty.” Heimdal's deep but warm voice comes from the door frame.

“Well… In that case I think it would be wise to fear the Valkyrie before the lack of mead.”

And with that the workers laugh and the tension dissipates. He smiles at Heimdall, this time truly, and nods. The gatekeeper reciprocates the gesture.

“It is dinner time, Majesty. The people are waiting for you to join us.”

“Very well, I will join you then.”

He greets the workers and follows Heimdall.

“I thank you for what you did back there.”

He sees him nod in silence. But something, a knot in his stomach unleashes and-and he suddenly needs to do something, to speak. Fill the atmosphere with chit-chat.

“Tis’ just I still haven’t get used to this All-Father thing, especially the part where I am King of Ragnarök’s survivors and my realm is literally this spaceship, which Bor knows what defiling acts had been committed here.”

 _Oh_ … He didn’t mean to sound like that.

“My King.” Heimdall interrupts him before he can say even more, his voice smooth and peaceful but strong and full of wisdom. “If you allow me a few humble words.” He nods and feels like a small child about to be scolded. “We have lost a lot in those days, we _all_ have and we are all mourning for what we can’t have anymore. What is lost _cannot_ come back and _will not_. But not everything is lost. You have not lost everyone.”

“I know.” Thor whispers more like a sigh.

It is just too much, the weight of the time that has passed over him and crushing over his bare body. These last days that feels like years, like _ten_ years of loosing and mourning and getting up to keep fighting for what he still has, keeping in mind that if he doesn’t fight he looses and even in that way he’s still loosing.

How all of this happened? He knows but… When all this started? that also knows but… Why did this happened? Could he have stopped it? And what was the exact moment that everything started to fall apart? He doesn’t know, he doesn’t know if such a moment exist. Does he know?

But _he remembers._ He has memories even if they feel foreign and too old, he recalls a time where things were better. He recalls a time where the meaning of lost was different, where things were different and he was too. Not so long ago. He remembers Asgard, the warriors three and Sif, the hunts, the wars they win, the feast to honor them, Father and Mother in there and smiling, and even Loki.

Loki, the younger brother with whom he had grown up. The one who he used to sing to sleep the nights that neither Mother nor the nurses could cease his weeping, the one that learned to read at a young age just for him, the one with who he used to escaped his lessons to have dangerous adventures in the deep of their mother’s garden, the one who play him pranks and all sort of tricks that he sometimes pretended to fall, just to listen his laugh, the one who looked at him and his gift with delight and pride not once fear even when he losed the control, the one who challenged and confronted him in front of everyone not minding anything else. The one with who he shared the days of his whole life since before he can remember, the one with who he shared his dreams and the one with who he shared bed since they were toddlers.

All that was lost and soon to be forgotten. Bury deep between the abyss Loki had fallen –had thrown himself, _had let himself go_ – ten years ago and the abyss Hela made of Asgard.

And as if Heimdall knew what was in his mind, he squeezes his shoulder and gives him one of those knowing smiles, (and he doesn’t know why he thinks of Father) and says. “There is still Iðavöllr. And we are all here for you. As you are for us.”

And Thor looks directly to his eyes, looking for something. “Everyone. _Even him._ ” Assures with another squeeze, his amethyst eyes burn with intensity.

 

  
He believes him, he really wants to.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *1 Alejandra Pizarnik from Useless Frontiers.  
> *2 Easy terror or love that sounds like love from @agooduniverse (from tumblr)
> 
> So I just hope that this can be read and enjoyed. It’s the first time I write all in English and not just a translation, so if there’s an error or if someone could give me some advice, you are welcome to say so.


	2. To Adapt: the Hermit IX.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ii. Loki is an aloof and resilient being trying to find their place.

> _“But this dark is deep:_   
>  _now I warm you with my blood, listen_   
>  _to this flesh.”_ *****

 

  
The seiðkona thanks him as she bows in a humble way, like exposing her head, like readying it to be cut and waiting–expecting his better judgment. Manners have always been somewhat odd to him, it has always felt like a dull and insipid facade, and _nothing_ is more disrespectful for Loki the Silvertongue than a weak lie.  
Nonetheless the woman gives him a kind smile, he can tell it’s a true one, then she orders the youngsters to do the same and they do it.

Loki nods earnestly and turns his back to walk away from the place.

When he meant to stay he never meant to involve in this sort of things.  
But as the days go by the aftermath of Ragnarök blooms like a plague of weed ruining a good harvest.  
The deficiencies became more than notorious when they faced the lack of sorcerers. In old Asgard, seiðr was an understimated practice and, nevertheless, it was a vital one. All of their healers, most of their lecturers and tutors, researchers, erudites and even some of the warriors practiced it. Hence the loss of their sorcerers means havoc in many areas.

That is what led him to be there, assisting a seiðr lesson with its young and inexperienced novices and their equally inexperienced lecturer. (Though, it wasn’t like he suddenly had decided to do community service. He just happened to walk into the class when the seiðkona noticed him and _basically_ begged help, leaving him with no other options than to accept.)  
The whole circumstance also felt odd and familiar, that part of being the seiðr-master whose advice is sought when making decisions, bringing back forgotten memories of the days before the– those other days, memories that he thought dead, memories he had buried but they insisted in coming back, again and again.

He remembers the days before those days, he remembers a younger version of himself full of briskness and zest, and doubts and repressed resentment. He remembers himself as fire, as a spontaneous ignition, and he remembers the subtle –almost nonexistent– yet persistent feeling of being out of place, a lost piece of Hnefatafl and yet functional.  
He also remembers he never liked all this thing of teaching and taking apprentices, or taking care of strangers or sharing his seiðr with strangers. He has always cherished his solitude, his space and his individualism, only consorting when he thought it appropriate and convenient. Yet the circumstances have – _subtly– forced_ him to do the opposite of his preferences.

What-remained-of-Asgard was still struggling to adjust itself to the new delicate situation, even after everyone has settled down and even after everyone has been assigned to a task. It’s understandable, he knows. These people and their simple little brain had never imagined going through something like this, they knew only the modest and untroubled life they always had, the thought of loosing everything had never crossed their minds. How could they have even considered a worst case scenario when their brains were always so full of mead, and meat and beautiful lies? How could they have known there was worst than running off mead in a feast? How could they have known that they also could, and would inevitably, _fall into the abyss?_

“Oh! Your Highness!” A woman suddenly says. He has been so invested in his thoughts that he couldn’t anticipate coming even this simple pleb. “I am truly gratified for having thee here.” A healer he can recognize, one of the best that they have. “Tis’ a young child, a girl, she’s been crying inconsolably the whole day and we haven’t been able to find the reason of her discomfort.”

Apparently the new routine of supervising the work of the remaining sorcerers has gotten into his skin, since his feet have driven him here –the healing hall– without his express wish.

“Take me with her.” He orders and she obeys while she explains that several healers have tried to assist the toddler, remarkably herself, but none has found the root of her ailment.

Then he’s in front of the child, blond braids tousled and big red eyes from weeping, he looks her in the eyes and says; “I will be checking on you, child” with the modest voice he can make. And then he’s summoning his seiðr and concentrating on her: cells, tissues, organs and systems… But as the healer said, he doesn’t find anything wrong within her. He decides execute a deeper search.

“I–We do not mean to interrupt but” A familiar voice interrupt, _again_. “I’ve heard the rumor that some fine lady’s suffering was so inconsolable that the people started to mourn with her. Is that true?”

The thundering figure of Thor Odinson stans in the frame of the door, in such a manner that he seems half ashamed for disrupting and half asking permission to enter, as if his royal arse were not enough justification to do whatever he pleases. But this is his brother and that’s the way he does things now, so golden and so heroic, so asgardian.

“It is true, My King.” The healer confirms roughly and giving the girl a scornful look.

“Alas then, because I think I might bring the solution of your problems.” And with that Loki notices that behind Thor’s massive legs another toddler hides, this one a older boy. The moment he sees the girl, he runs to her side to clung her into his arms, forgetting all previous sheepishness. “This brave gentleman spent all the morning looking for his missing little sister. Now everything is back to how it has to be.”

Oh, behold everyone the almighty Thor has saved the day again! Now everybody can return to their slightly-miserable life.  
So the healer praises Thor in the way his so dear followers do, then she kind of forces the children to do the same and they, with renewed sheepishness, do it.

“Then I shall take this two where they belong, surely there is somebody who must be loosing thy mind without these.” She pauses and the like realizing of something, she says. “Only with thy permission Majesty and Highness.” There it is again the absurdity and oddity of manners, but he says nothing of it as he and his brother nod together. Then with a bow of the lady and –a forced one of– the children, they leave them.

After that Loki realizes that there is nobody else in the room, excepting, _well_ … them.  
They are alone. Together. _Alone together._

“Sooo… this is what you do now.” It is more an statement than a question.

Loki cocks an eyebrow, something in that tone he’s using irritates him.

“What is exactly what I am doing, Thor?”

And Thor straighten his back wrapping his arms in his torax, he makes a smirk that Loki hates instantly and before he talks he rubs his socket quickly.

“Well… You know… Helping our people? Uhmmm…” Oh there’s more of that supercilious tone.

“I am not. I was only checking upon them when–“

“Checking! That is exactly what I was about to say. In fact, is it not what I have said?”

And Loki just rolls his eyes, he is not playing that game, there is no way he can make Thor understand that he is right. Thor laughs in that nonchalant and arrogant way that means that –he thinks– he is the winner. He is not, evidently. But there’s nothing that would change his mind.

Loki is about to question the actions of the King of Asgard that prefers playing the hero instead of being an actual King, when he catches him again rubbing his socket.

“Your eye is irritated.” He approaches him closely to inspect the area, he notices now the redness in the sides of the patch but no stickiness or yellow undertones. So it is the patch that is causing the irritation and not the wound itself. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

And Thor for a moment just stares at him, blinking.

“Well on one hand I did not think it was that much.” He tilts his head “And on the other, as you know, our remaining healers are having a though time assisting all our people.”

 _You are the only All-Father of the bloody nine realms,_ Loki wants to yell at him but instead he says; “Then why did you not tell me?”

“Because; again, on one hand I did not think it was that much. And on the other, you’ve kind of been avoiding me, brother.”

Loki affects an scowl full of offense. “I have not…” But then his own words bite his tongue “It is you the one…” and so he realizes that his brother is not entirely wrong, neither is he exactly right. Loki snorts unhappily. “Sit there, I’ll fix it.”

Thor obeys without saying a word and the silence fills the space around them, between them, Loki just decides to proceed and chants his seiðr. Concentrating it in the skin tissue.

 _Concentrate_.

It is not like if the simple fact of being alone with Thor could get into his nerves and sting him from there, it is nothing like that. However something definitely is happening between the two of them. Well, being complete and nastily honest, something has always been happening between them. The nature of their relationship has always been utterly entropic, only finding balance in the pure feral chaos. But that kind of balance seems out-of-order these days, something definitely feels odd.  
Perhaps it’s Ragnarök, their current situation and what led them there. Perhaps it’s the years and years of schemes, wicked games, betrayals. All the mistakes they have committed and the unspoken transgressions against no other but each other, like daggers plunged into each other’s rib cage, like all the ill-mischief concelead in the facade of pranks, resentment, vengeance, hostility, brotherhood and something twisted and wicked that starts with the L letter and ends with the both of them bleeding and longing. Perhaps it’s a combination of all that. Perhaps it’s just the both of them… Or perhaps it’s only Loki being… Loki.

 _Concentrate_.

But his brother’s single eye stares at him with such intensity that _burns_ , that sends an electric pulse into his spine and nerves and veins and all the way to the pit of that damned Jotun heart.

And then his own hands are tracing each side of his face; the spell is finished and so the irritation is cured, but nevertheless his long black nails trails a path in the skin, drawing an ancient rune, and his lips recites some chant that isn’t an actual spell, but neither of them seem to mind it–or Thor doesn’t seem to notices.  
When he reaches his brother’s lips, he stops there, almost as if his hedonistic self would be able of repent such act. He stops because every inch of his skin is burning and it feels like being exposed to the sun.  
Suddenly, without warning sign, Thor _kisses_ the tip of his fingers. He is just brushing his slips with the skin, but something inside him, that beating striated-iced muscle in the center of his thorax stings, is punctured. Then his brother turns his head a little without loosing his eyes, and with the speed necessary for him to memorize the feeling of his beard against the length of his hand, does that thing again and it stings again with the same fervor.

It is just _too much_. So Loki take his hands off him, at that point he must have third-degree burns, steps backwards but two pair of burdensome hands grabs him from the waist and keeps him from running from the crime scene. The look of Thor’s eye is inexorable, relentless, ever-burning with a thunder that would be the end of him. And–

“Majesty! You are needed in–” And with that they are miles away, safe and separated miles away, from each other. Whatever had passed it doesn’t exist anymore. “–the bridge.” The Valkyrie throws a look, one of those looks of her, but doesn’t say anything more and just waits for Thor’s answers.

“Of course.” He says and without further ado he leaves.

The Valkyrie throws a last look on him and he holds his gaze, impassive, he even puts one of his smirks. After minutes, or seconds –he is not sure– she leaves too.

And  
Loki is alone.  
 _Again_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Marina Tsvetaeva from Poem of the End.
> 
> This chapter took more time and is longer than I expected, so I’ve decided to divided in two. (Aka I’ve a little obsession with the symmetry, I’m freaking Death the Kid) Which kind of turn this fic in slow burn-ish, but not so much, cuz the next chapter is gonna burn like Loki in this chapter (I hope so. But with someone like me writing it, who knows?)
> 
> Thank you for the feedback, btw!


	3. To Adapt II: the Lovers VI

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ii. Loki is an aloof and resilient being trying to find their place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So hey! I’m not death –pitifully–. I don’t want to give you any excuses, that doesn’t feels correct for you, I’m sorry, I’m a mess and I shouldn’t be trust (?. But because of the delay here’s a longer chapter, with something that can be called smut -can it tho?- and too many emotions. I hope you enjoy it.

 

 

> _“I can give you  
>  my loneliness, my darkness,  
>  the hunger of my heart.” *****_

 

The cheerful bustle reverberates in the walls of the now-feast hall as the people take seat and get comfortable around the large table. It certainly is a surprise that they all fit in there… Well, not that surprising, but still; it’s a spaceship, meant to the fun-kind-of illicit activities, crowded with god-people and some other misfit aliens and drifting from the galaxy’s abandoned corner. Perhaps that is the component that makes the situation awkward and even more uneasy than the regular, at least for Loki.

All this people knew, the modest and carefree life they had so far, has been snatched away. It is natural that they have chosen to cling to old-known customs, as if an old piece of a sinking ship could keep them afloat. Nevertheless, he can understand them –in his own idiosyncratic way–, after all old habits die hard and every thing wishes to remain in the same state of motion that it was firstly, law of inertia… or whatever. In spirits of easing and cheering up themself, the all-new all-fancy Council have decided _all_ _together_ to declare mourning, and the asgardian’s way of mourning has always been through feasting.

So they do, people organize the event of every day and night, and task are distributed for each one. The kitchens are always filled with steam, roasted and boiled smells, and all the sort of noises, food comes and goes from there to the table and back. The hall is mostly filled with people, especially the nights –or what the ship system imitates as night–, at that time all becomes lively and boisterous. A group of Skalds that have survived starts to recite the sagas of their misadventures, musicians plays dirges and instruments, sorcerers summons artificial fire so people can dance around it. And it is too much like old Asgard.

It looks a lot like a time that is no longer and it _should_ –would never come back. Yet it feels exactly the opposite, and it tastes sour. Yet Loki is right here, sitting on the table and watching his – _King_ –brother surrounded by _his_ people, his followers who adore him like the golden sun he is, surrounded by people he loves and love him back. Yet, another bitter memory he had long ago buried along with that version of _himself_ , threats with climb up his trachea and burn him alive. Yet he feels the same; a jester. A second best. An outcast. A sh… No.

No. What’s gone is gone, and burned, and buried deep. It cannot come back because it’s dead. And death is inexorable, nothing can escape from her rotten mouth. And Loki is not more that foolish weak child, the one who fell. He is Loki the one who climb up the abyss and can climb whatever else.

With that thought in mind he gets up from his place and leaves. He does not greet, does not anounce his leaving because it isn’t something that he has to do, but he does notices that nobody else greets him or announces his leaving. And suddenly the lack of manners disgust him, he considers it disrespectful. Even so he says nothing and leaves silently, inconspicuously more than he likes to admit.

Before he can disappear completely through the passage, a feeling piercing directly his skull makes him aware that someone is staring at him, and without ceasing his pace he searches between the crowd. He finds Thor’s only eye gazing at him, with such a fierce he feels he’s being targeted by a poisoned arrow. And without hesitation he holds the gaze, deep blue eye wanting to inject into himself against his own volatile eyes. It is a fight of their own and most intimate style without doubts, a fight Loki is not willing to lose, is not willing to let Thor win. So they hold their glances until a wall interposes between them.

And then there’s no trepidation, nor chest tightening or else feeling, just a meaningless little stab through the muscle of his heart, barely a stinging ache, a pebble in his boot. Such foolishness is not worth wasting his time.

 _His time._  
His time that is counted, his time that is a tightrope for which he walks and feels it tighten up with each steps he gives. His time which deadline is near and nearer, he doesn’t know exactly how long he has but he can feel the sharp border of its end.  
The irony in all this is hilarious; one would think that his kin has no affairs for something as shallow and platitudinous, _and mundane_ , thing as time. That its concept is obsolete, absurd, completely meaningless, for someone as the Gods there is not such a thing as time. That it would be appeased by the weight of his bare name. But the reality is, he has no time...

 _“We are not Gods. We’re born, we live, we die.”_ Odin had told him once.

Hilarious situation indeed, Loki chuckles.

When he is in front of the door he inserts the code to open it and gets in Thor’s chambers, in fact, according to Thor, they are sharing the chamber or more like Thor is sharing with him. But he doesn’t like how that sounds for some reason that he knows but does not want to think about, another familiar odd feeling that bites him from the inside of his veins, and he knows the reasons but he does not want to to acknowledge it, to call from its pompous name.

So he walks to his desk and sits in the chair, there’s a ton of papers and maps and else trash, at first sight this is a simple and rustic research for the travel to Midgard and its possible vicissitudes, something Loki does to keep his mind out of the reach of boredom and also, in the process, give a hand to his brother and his people.

A helpful gesture born from a selfish distraction or game to trick a chaotic impulse, typical Loki.

At first sight it is. But it also is a facade, an alibi. He whispers a short spell, tongue sliding the edge of his mouth and lips moving softly almost like reciting a poem, the ton of papers levitates shining green and stacking one on top of another, after a moment it turns into an old heavy book.

Loki catches it in his hands and feels its weight, then he opens it and passes the pages until he finds the one he had marked. He rereads quickly his own notes in the borders of the page, just to assure the knowledge he already knows and remind the small details he might have forgotten, and then he starts reading where he left.

The book it’s written in a dead language, so old that he recognizes as the one that created the bases of old asgardian. He thanks the languages lessons of his youth and his brother for inspiring him to take them together –almost as a competition, well it was like that for Loki–, and even with that help he still struggles at translating.

He realizes that it’s the oldest book that Asgard has now and the only one of its kind, it could have been the only asgardian book if he wouldn’t have a collection of his own saved in a pocket dimension, it is almost luck that he saved before the catastrophe. But Loki does not believe in something as random and intangible as luck; for him there is not something as luck, a god makes his own decisions, a Loki is his own hamingja.

In fact, he has several valuable things saved in the pocket dimension –betweem them is the tesseract itself– he thinks he could use them as a wild card if the situation requires it. And it is not a casualty he has saved this book, he has been studying the universe to know more, he has been doing it since he took the throne. The whole thing may have been a trick, some vengeful prank, it is true, but it also was the second chance he had been looking after Midgard, a chance to prepare himself and even the universe from what is coming. Now he no longer has the advantage with which he has been counting the past years, he is alive and the universe knows it, _he_ must already find out…

He dismisses those thoughts, it has nothing to do with his searching, and concentrates in reading. He reads as the hours pass, not being aware of the time or his own weariness. He reads of the begging of time, of the nothingness itself and the fire and the ice, he reads of an end of an era and its catastrophic aftermath, he reads of the birth of a new story written in blood and building with bones, he reads of a not-Ragnarök and its not-Iđavöllir, he reads of a cycle like a serpent chasing its own tail to eat it, he reads of a force so utterly entropic: the order of chaos and the chaos of the order, an state so stable that it just had to split. And so, six _stricto sensu_ forces were born; different and separate, opposed to each other but nevertheless connected together by its own thread.

Nothingness that gives birth to stories, fire and ice that aren’t the same but they cannot exist without the other. A blackness without end but neither with begging, for which everything goes through.

An abyss for which everyone falls and the pain of the fall, the pain itself, is inexorable. Like someone waiting at the end for him, arriving just at the moment he has decided he didn’t need to breath anymore. Just at the moment he had decided to make peace with the bitterness of his own existence. Just when he has decided to leave everything behind, everyone, every hope, free himself of all the weight and rest. And just in that moment fate decides to extend a hand to him, and like every starved creature he takes it. The consequences doesn’t matter, he can take it, he can overcome them, trick them and sit in the throne that is his birthright.

And the pain, the pain that is a hard candy he is willing to chew. Even if it breaks every bone in his structure, even if it burns every inch of his skin, even if it twist every cell of his brain. The reward is worth of it, brilliant, warm and fulfilling. He just has to take it and open it– and everything, everything he has dreamed, everything he has desired silently, everything he has wanted and asked and has been denied, it would be his. All served at his fingertips, if he just coud–

It’s an impulse, a mere instinct, that comes from years and years of mischief, of training, of escaping and, also, of surviving. Is a red flag waving. His guts tells him something is approaching from behind; the molecules of the air are dangerously charged he can feel them against his skin.

The room is dark and he can’t see what is coming, but he knows well what it is. All his systems turning on the alarms and making him more aware of the vulnerable position he is. He knows exactly what is coming but he is not even able of move a muscle, unable to do something more than to wait for it. Like a vermin that has fallen in a trap, desperate and hopeless, and foolish and so pathetic, while it comes for him.

And

It has him from his shoulders and it clenches them, it calls him by his name and it’s like receiving an electric shock. And it’s a impulse, a survival instinct. It’s a tumultuous memory that pulls the trigger and sends a piercing pulse through his body, and in a blink he has conjured his dagger and then he plunges it into the place where the jugular should be.

Or at least he tries to do so.

“Loki ‘tis just me.” Thor says, his voice is coarse but sure of himself and with so much calm that it doesn’t seem like his treacherous younger brother has attempted to kill him, again.

Loki blinks. His wrist is gripped in Thor’s hand, too close to his face. And he feels terribly vulnerable, caught in the middle of something personal and disgraceful, like an open book of his most intimate misfortunes and about to be read.

He knows it must be the tesseract that is playing with his mind, _tricking it, twisting him._ It is not unfamiliar the charm of an infinity stone, different maybe, but not indistinct. The way it twist his mind, the pain it involves he knows it well. Nevertheless that doesn’t mean he is free of falling in its trick.

“It is not wise to surprise me, brother.” Loki snaps bitterly. His brother already should know well how much he dislikes it, specially when he is– _distracted_.

Loki tugs the grip to free himself but quickly Thor makes it tighter, pressing his bones like chains restricting him from his precious freedom.

“You were having a nightmare. It seemed quite bad and I thought you could use some help.” Thor explains, and Loki feels insulted. He doesn’t know the why or where that thought comes from, but that’s what he feels, he scowls.

“Thank you for saving me, then.” He makes sure to remark the irony in his voice. “My hero.” And he sounds so utterly sour and vexed.

Thor catches the undertone of the situation. And, as always, all that takes to set on fire something is a little spark.

“What is it Loki? Why must you pester me?” His voice sounds truly clueless, borderline with despair, a lament of dissatisfaction.

“Pester you? _I_ pester you?” Loki answers with deranged question.

Thor who always has been the golden child, the gifted one and the sun of Asgard. His older sibling so strong, blessed for the Norns and always better than him. The Mighty God of Thunder who dulled all Loki’s attempts to shine. If Loki could master the art of seiðr, Thor would be gifted with lighting. If Loki could make flamboyant bargains with potential allies, Thor would charm them.

“It is not I who set the fire.” And Loki knows, _oh,_ he knows his silvertongue, sharp as the daggers he can so easily summon and plunge in the heart of his enemies.

“Then it is I? _I_ the one and only whom the fault should fall? Me, just me and my mastermind, the one who set all this fire?” Each word is a brick that they, together, put in the ground to build a wall between them. “Is it me the one who unleashes chaos in _every_ place where I am?” Each word is an step they give further from the abyss, but also from each other. “ _Tell me_ Loki, because my mastermind seems to fault me now!”

And suddenly time stops and rewinds five years ago, a decade, a century, a life time, a second ago. There it is the irony and the dichotomy of time, an illusion that is able to run over the bone structure of even Gods and break them. There it is all the wounds that they always have chosen to hide but even so they remained there, open and aching, lying in wait for a moment of weakness, of pain, of rage, like an apex predator. There it is all the mistakes and the wrongs they have done to each other, the pain that they caused and they denied, the words they have decided to unquiet, a loud stifling silence. All the betrayals, the tricks and the humiliations, the bitterness, the horror, that which is unforgivable. And the will never be’s, the death hope of a brilliant better future together, the dreams that could not be anymore, the broken promise of what they could have been.

There it is the truth they have denied.

But the undead do not rest in peace. The pain dOseas not die but it rots, it turns into disease, into madness and into more pain, until it explodes in their faces. And it leaves them naked, exposing their weaknesses, their wounds, their awfulness, their very souls.

“Nay, brother, it is me.” Loki’s sharp tongue presses against each other’s throat, one false movement would mean bleeding to death. The irony in his answer lies gutted, obscenely open, now all that is left for them is the terrible eyesore of the truth. “It is me and you, and all this wronged universe of us.”

And what is there after all that madness, that awfulness, that carnage? What remains in the core of their souls? Is there something after the horror?  
Loki knows; there is hunger, there is desperation, there is longing, and wanting and hoping.  
There is the two of them standing in front of each other, hurting and, above all they are alone together.

Thor gaze in him burns every wall he has built so meticulously during the years of his life, Loki means to return the feeling –to tear apart everything his mighty brother has built–, he wants that so much, he tries to do so desperately. And Thor’s grip, still and _again_ , keeps him from running but the thing is: he doesn’t want to run, he wants to stay and fight.

He wants, and he wants Thor; whatever that it means, all that it means. He has always been committed to fulfilling his wants, so he pulls from the grip that makes him prisoner, and like the starved man he is, Loki kisses Thor. Because he has nothing left to lose, because Thor –as he knows him– is starved too, because they have lost everything even themselves and even theirselves, and because it has always been the two of them.

And Thor kisses him back, with such ferocity that he trashes his lips, the lips of the both, with such fervor that it makes them both even hungrier and it makes them want more. So they sigh and soon teeth are involved, and then their hands too; they wander all over like if the body of the other is unknown –like if the years of parting could erase the centuries of union–. But the hunger is a sickness, the desperation is a virus and their wounds the infection. There is no cure, no anesthetics, no raft that saves them from drowning. So they drown together, they _are_ longing for it.

And Thor decides to grab him by the waist, this time his brother earns a bite and in response he crushes him against the wall, _he holds onto him_. All manners, patience, gentleness and boundaries are gone. This is a battle, feral and familiar, violent and hot-blooded, passional. This is a fight for dear life –for damn life–, one of them feels death all over his skin and the other has it tangled around his neck. This is devour and be devoured, before the void does it for them. So Loki pulls his brother’s hair, _he holds onto him_ , and decides not to miss the long golden mane.

The rest of the act burns and burns them, and they burn together. The rest of the act feels an illusion –like time– because it seems it’s going to end in any moment and leave them there, dump them like a disposable thing. So they bite the skin, pulls their hair, tear the clothes –and when it becomes a nuisance, Loki vanishes it with a snap of his finfers. And Thor groans, and Loki wants to say something but instead he also groans–, they press their bodies against each other; their sex, their meat, their bare souls.

And then it’s everything about wander their skin, their scars, traveling known areas and some unknown areas. Thor traces the scar on his chest with such a pain look that Loki thinks he is just too much beautiful, but none says nothing. And then when Thor finds more scars that he didn’t know and doesn’t find explanations to them, he wants to ask, he wants to know. But Loki doesn’t want to answer and so he kisses him and steals his turn to wander. Thor is a sentimental man, a sensitive man, and soon he looses in the pleasure.

The rest of the act feels not real, something impalpable, something Loki can’t reach with his deceivious and defiled hands. The rest of the act is not real, _so much good_ , thinks Loki. And it doesn’t feel real until they join, until Thor _impales_ him, and Loki feels every inch of it, of him, of himself, of pain and pleasure. He feels real –like the pass of the time–, whatever that means. 

And so they get tangled around each other, like two serpents or two hedgehogs. 

 

 

They have the void in their back tearing them, so they hold onto them. They can’t do nothing to avoid it but they can at least be together. They may be alone but at least they have each other around.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Jorge Luis Borges from Two english poems: II.
> 
> Something I forgot to tell you the last chapter, is that Alone Together is a refence of a song from Ella Fitzgerald (if I’m not wrong). I thought if Loki likes Nina Simone, he must like Ella (and honestly who doesn’t, this women are iconic).
> 
> Also the updates will be posted between less than fortnight, hopefully.
> 
> And if you wanna roast me bc i’m a terrible author, you can find me in tumblr: laevisiklownz. You got the permission to roast me, so. 
> 
> Thank you for the feedback (especialmente a mi hermosa Misassan, your review I gave me life and inspiration). All of that really inspires me, so I’ll be grateful if you leave a comment or kudos or whatevs.


	4. to Change

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> iii. After a whole lifetime together and some years apart, they have changed. Thor knows it.

 

> _“When I shed my skin for you,_  
>  _I left intact my animal_  
>  _heart the desire to crack_  
>  _bones between delicate skin.”_ *****

 

He can feel every muscle of his body aching with exhaustion, nevertheless he does not want to stop, the rest of his body is aching for more of this. Blood boiling in excitement, adrenaline fiddling his brain, lighting tingling in every cell and he can fe3l the electric pulse of each living being around them.

Oh how he missed the sparring sessions!  
It is not like he does not enjoy the battles with real enemies, he does loves those told. But nothing compares to the feeling of a friendly sparring session and it is more thrilling when he shares it with one of his brothers-in-arms.

He sees The Hulk get up of the ground and get in attack position. Thor does not repress the triumphant smile, teasing the green beast of a friend he has.

“Majesty!” and it would have work if they wouldn’t have been interrupted. “Majesty if you allow me a word.” A man says, he recognizes him as one of the workers in the control panel.

Thor motions to the Hulk asking for a lull and then nods to the man.

“I apologize for interrupting but your Highness seeks for you.”  
  
“Has he mentioned what for?”

“I think your… sibling has made contact with the mortals’ realm.” his whole self freezes for a moment, forgets any oddity in the man’s words, feels his heart beat savagely in his chest.

“Oh” he says, lost in a world that spins just too fast. “I will go then.”

He hears the Hulk complaining and, absently mind, he promises him to come back later. The other man follows him near with renew excitement.

“Do you think the mortals will welcome us in their lands?”

Thor inhales deeply.

“I do not know that, my friend.” he says too honestly and notices the man’s face sadden. “Do not worry. They will surely understand our situation and we’ll come with some kind of arrangement, I assure you.” he pats him on the back, trying to soothe his worries. “Though they love me on earth, they simply can’t say no to me.” jesting he smirks to the man and they laugh together.

For the rest of the way they do not talk. It’s fine, he thinks, his people trust his King and the King knows what to do. _But does the King know what awaits for his kingdom?_  
He does not want to go for that path, the places that it can take him are innumerable. So many possibilities, so much can go wrong, so much can be lost yet. He _cannot_ allow that, he simply cannot afford keep losing anymore.  
With that in mind Thor takes another deep breath, quickens his pace and does not breath until they arrive the control room.

While they are approaching the control, from the distance, he can see the tumultuous that has become the control room. The workers, even if there are not many of them –he can count them with the fingers of one hand–, go from one side to the other typing screeps and panels. Between them, he recognizes two familiar backs talking; the Valkyrie and his brother.

He walks to them, completely forgetting the man that came for him in first place, and grabs Loki’s shoulder so they know he’s here.

“Brother i–” he stops suddenly, voice drying in his throat. He feels the Valkyrie staring at him but he does not turn back, he can’t, he blinks and gazes Loki again.

“Yes _brother_ , I was looking for you.” Loki says, crossing arms on _her_ chest – _under her breast_ –, making him look at _her_ frown eyebrows. “Brunnhilde and I have made contact with Midgard.” There’s certain annoyance in her tone, he feels a little guilty but doesn’t know what to say.

He knows Loki is a shapeshifter, his sibling has always been like that just... not this public. But those were years–no, centuries ago, the time changed that as it seems. 

“Aye, and _we_ thought that you should be the one who should talks to them.” the Valkyrie adds with a mocking tone, and when he looks at her she smirks as if she’s watching something hilarious. “After all they are _your_ friends, Majesty.”

“Of course.” Thor realizes what that words means. They have made contact with Midgard, this is the opportunity they were looking for. His heart freezes painfully for a second, his world spins fast again, a piercing anxiety fills his veins. “Please, communicate me with them.” He says barely in a whisper.

Loki nods and turns her back to type something in the machine.

“You are going to do it fine.” Brunnhilde tells him, her words are soothing like the words of someone older and wiser than him, makes him think in the elder sister he never could have. But the merely thought sends an uncomfortable feeling through his body, she seems to notice something in him. “By the way, _my-mighty-King_ , you didn’t tell me about this.” Finger pointing at Loki, her voice lower and suggestive. But what he dislikes more is the look on her eyes, there’s some spark that in the time he has known her, he has never seen.

It makes him feel offended, and questioned, and disrespected, and an amount of old familiar feelings bloom again. He does not have to explain anything to anybody, much less when it comes to Loki.

“Thor come here! What are you waiting for?” before he can say anything Loki interrupts and he’s reminded of why he is there. He swallows hard and goes to her side. “Be brief, you may not have much time, we are still far from Midgard’s solar system and the signals are still too weak.” He looks her in the eyes and nods, tries to gather all the confidence.

And then the room goes silent, the only things that can be heard are the interference in the dial and the hard breathing of the people in the room. He holds his again.

“Alright. Who are you? Where did you get my number? And why are you calling me?” Nicholas Fury sounds clear and strong as ever, even threatening.

“Fury, I am so glad to hear you, it is me Thor, the son of Odin.” he says, the last words are spoken with certain oddity that he doesn’t know where it comes. “Surely you remember me.”

“Thor! Yes, I know who you are. Believe me when I say, you are not exactly the forgettable type.” the interference goes and returns at times, it makes a bit hard to follow the conversation. “But to what do I owe your call?”

“Listen me well, old friend, for I do not have time to spend, I need a favour– _Asgard_ needs a favour from Earth.” What is he supposed to say? _Long time no see you… or talk to you. But, hey, remember all those times I saved Midgard? Pay back is here._ That does not sound well, but what else he could say? “It’s a long story but Asgard– my home planet was destroyed by my sister. And ah– _I_ – managed to save the people and take them into a ship…”

“Thor?… you still there?… can’t hear you…” he looks at Loki but she’s already taking care, even Brunnhilde is commanding the workers to help her. Loki throws a glance at him, telling to try again.

“Can you hear me now?” and there’s a please trying to escape from his mouth.

“Barely…”

“My apologies for that–” he listens Loki scolding him from the distance, urging to be quick. “Right. Asgard does not exist anymore. The surv–My people and me, we are traveling in a spaceship. Midgard has to help us.” And this time he can hold himself. “ _Please_.”

“ _Oh_ …” there’s a pause that seems to last forever and the only thing that fills it is the growing interference. “That is a lot to take…”

The seconds pass, thick and everlasting.

“Fury?” he gasps in despair and almost repenting his words. Now the interference has evolved to a furious white noise, it’s even hard to hear the people working at his sides.

“It’s just–” and that’s it, the communication is cut off completely and there’s that white noise crawling the walls of the room and growing louder and louder.

And Thor can’t think, can’t move, can’t do another thing than feel these raw and feral emotions unravel and fill his veins. And for a moment he feels like his young self; blood-thirsty, raging and berserker. He hits the counter and shouts in pure frustration, unable to think and blinded for the rage he forgets the people, _people that trust in his King._

And then, then there’s that thick silence again, the one that weighs his shoulders and crushes his bones, like a curse or ghost haunting him everywhere he goes. He feels the weighs of all his actions and mistakes, his failures, that now have trapped everybody he holds dear with him.

“Brother” Loki says in a whisper. He is not worthy of her concern, not worthy of her solace, not worthy of her affection. _He is unworthy of the loved ones he has betrayed,_ the ghost says. “Thor.” And this time she approaches him, wraps a hand around one of his arms and the other around his ribs. It’s something that doesn’t go unnoticed, unless it’s completely necessary –or she craves for it–, Loki prefers to avoid physical contact, even more in such a public situation.

“Alright I think we all need to take a break, leave this room, drink a big horn of Sakar liquor or find a bed and… You all got me.” the Valkyrie interjects the scene, with an animosity on her voice that doesn’t quite match the situation.

“Yes, I coincide with Brunnhilde. In fact, I declare that you must take the rest of the day free.” Loki says, same as Brunnhilde she shows herself unaffected, cheerful and even charming –if it is a façade or not, he can’t tell. Anyways he wouldn’t be surprised. What does surprise him, is the following. “But heed me well, fine people of Asgard, you all have worked hard and served well your kingdom. Do not let be said otherwise and neither that your effort has been unprofitable, that would be a severe offense to you and thereby to your King.” _His sister_ tells them, and he knows deep inside himself and through the unnamed but known tie that unites them, she speaks nothing but truth. “Also it would be a nasty lie, thereby they’d be insulting me and I cannot stand for it.”

The people laughs softly almost afraid of the act. Out of the corner of his eye he can see his sister shaking her hands, a gesture she had inherited of Mother, he also watches her silently thank the Valkyrie.

“You heard our _Princess_ , lads and lasses let’s take our leave.” she hurries the people to exit the room. “You take care of our King.” And before closing the door she adds in a lower and almost menacing tone. “And do not forget, even with that pretty face of yours, I still don’t trust you _Lackey_.”

He sees Loki roll her eyes completely irritated. But he doesn’t pay attention to her, decided to waste no more time he reaches the panels and turns on the screen to type.

“What are you doing?” she inquires behind him, her tone sounds almost accusing.

“I am giving my friends a call.” answers her, with an almost ironic tone. “Is it not clear?”

“I declared that everyone had the rest of the day free. And everyone includes you, brother.” she tells him. “Was it not clear?”

“And I am your King, I don’t have to respond to you, _sister_.” the last word is snarled almost with a bit more venom than the rest, he doesn’t mean it, at least it is not his intention. But is too late, intentions matter little before the consequences of his actions. Thor, more than anybody, should know that.

Loki steps back narrowing her gaze, he sees anger in her and also sees hurt.

“I did not…” he tries to look for an explanation but everything sounds like an excuse. “I am sorry. I should not have said that. I do need your advice.” Simply says, he doesn’t think that that would fix what he just broke. “I am truly sorry.” He repeats rubbing insistently a hand against his forehead.

“So I have heard.” she hisses, crossing her arm in her chest and lifting the chin. She scrutinizes him with those emerald eyes of her, cold and cunning. “What troubles you?”

“What troubles me?” repeats sighing and deeply frustrated. “We were so close, Loki, so close to establish contact with Earth. And yet it did not work. Fate keeps testing me… No, not fate. But it sometimes feels like Norns are just cruelly mocking in my face.”

Loki seems to take a moment to analyze the situation.

“To Hel with them, then. We Gods do not need them, nor we need to communicate anything to the humans.”

“Oh we do, you know that we do. This is not just for them, this is for _our_ people too.” he notices the frown she makes but she says nothing so he ignores it, keeps talking. “They need this. They need to know there’s some hope, they deserve to know there’s still a home in the universe for them.” says and sounds like the ghost of a voice, a ghost that disappears with every step it gives.

“They have you.” she tells him, almost imitating his tone. “And they trust you. They know you will– _are_ _going to_ guide them to that place.”

“And _I am_ – I have failed them!” Thor yells like a heavy thunder that impacts some piece of land with all its ruction. He tenses his arms trying to hold his raging gift. “I keep failing and failing and falling, and I am dragging everyone with me.”

“Oh c’mon! That’s bullshit. You cannot believe that.” Loki approaches him again, her eyes pierce with indignation and some sentiment he can’t quite define. Is it concern?. “ _Oh you do_.” And with defeated sigh she takes both his arms with her hands, tracing a path to embrace his hands. “I can’t believe what I’m about to say but Thor, you are not the one at fault. And if you want to blame somebody, if that serves you in some way, at least blame the guilty. The real ones!”

“ _Sister_ …”

“Aye brother! Blame me, blame Hela, blame _F-_ Father” her gaze is persistent, he can’t hold it anymore and tries to focus in other thing. “And so keep tracing the thread of guilt. It certainly will guide you somewhere. I do not know where neither I see how that would help you, though if that’s what you want.” she lets go one of his hands and points a finger between them. “But know this: you cannot blame yourself for what is inevitable. That will guide you to nothing but rage and pain. And from what happens from there, _that will be your fault._ ”

There’s meaning in her words, wisdom that she has gained not in a peaceful way but in a battle, a battle in which she had lost more than she had won. Those are scars that marks you every inch of yourself.

He feels, once again, that the world spins too fast making him loose his center. There’s a lot more significance in those words than she has said for a long time, a lot that’s subtly implied, an amount of knowledge that could mean and _that mean_ so many things. Things that he doesn’t know how to read, things that he does not know if he’s reading correctly. 

Thor sighs squeezing her hand and cups the back of her neck, in that familiar way that he’s always been so fond.

“ _Sister_ ” he whispers almost longing for her even when Loki is pressing their forehead together.

There’s a lot he wants to ask. There’s a lot they have to talk about yet. There’s so many words like ghost scattered around the room, words that haunt them.

But she is so near to him. And there’s the freshness warm of her skin touching his, a sweet memory erasing the bitter reality with a caress, the sounds of her beating heart accompanying his, her hand so cosily trapped in his –no, they are tangled _together_ –. Thor can’t resist Loki, and neither can Loki resist Thor. They are serpents chasing each other’s tail, each other’s soul, each other’s mouth.

They kiss, because now that is the inevitable.

 

**.**

 

 

> _“You know me too well.  
>  You know me not at all.” *****_

 

Thor felt inspired and decided to have words with the workers of the control room. Yes, they had been encouraged by Loki and the Valkyrie, but he had seen their faces still unsure and uneasy. And as Loki said they needed him. So he went to them and spoke with truth but also with hope and faith. After that he felt lighter, the whole room felt that way. And they drunk that cheap Sakar liquor –not that bad but was not mead– and spoke about stories of old Asgard.

It had been a memorable evening and now he’s facing to his chamber. He finds Loki leaning in a wall and it’s a little too funny how she looks as the youngster she was once, he greets her as if they have not see each other a couple hours ago and they walk side by side.

“I have to say, brother, I’m impressed.” she says with that tone that’s so hers and also, full of pride.

“What for?”

“Well. You have changed a lot.” he looks her at the eyes and sees just the truth. “You have become the person I never thought I would live to see.” she tells him and there’s a smile on her face, the kind that she makes when she’s reciting a riddle. “But the person I knew you were and always wished to see bloom.”

And of all the things that Loki could say, that is the most surprising one. One would think that that’s more something that he would tell her, that he was the constant and she the variable.

She makes one of those fancy faces of her, biting one of her nails. “I think I have to catch up.”

Thor smirks at her, like if he is the winner of a battle between them.

“I think you would need some help.” he extends a hand to her “I offer myself.”

She pouts and now she looks like a spoiled toddler, nevertheless takes his hand.

“Bet you are going to lose your patience first.”

“We will see that, little trickster.”

And he takes her to their chambers.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *1 Jeannine Hall Gailey ; “The animal heart: She warns him” from She returns to the Floating World.
> 
> *2 Lorna Dee Cervantes ; from “For all you know”, Emplumada.


	5. to Decide

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> iv. Loki knows there’s only doom for those who stay still.

“ _My_ _love_ ,  
 _what_ _we_ _make_ _of_ _loss_ _is_ _a_ _sport_  
 _that_ _kill_ _us.” *****_

 

Loki wanders the halls of the ships. Is late into what-would-be an Asgardian night and everybody else is sleeping. The halls are almost dim, softly illuminated by tenuous lights but of extravagant colors. It’s nothing like the halls of the palace that once she called home, it has certain similarity with some place far away from there and long forgotten by any good man, though this place does have more grace and dignity than that vulgar place.

She wonders if the ship was of the Grandmaster’s design, the man has a remarkable style. Back in Sakaar, even when she sometimes did not share his likes, she did valued that habit of tailoring everything at his own liking. He had explained to her, it was like leaving a mark in everything that he liked so he would not be forgotten, she really liked his point of view.

Certainly he was a madman and a creep, but all those sort of thing she knows them too well –she’s even been called that– and there’s nothing that would take her for granted. It can be said that she even likes him. En Dwi Gast is the kind of man that makes the universe more fun and interesting… Well that if he’s still alive.  
Nay, people like him always lives to tell the tale. They don’t just survive, they overcome any situation and they do it with their whole self.

Would he be mad with all that was taken from him? With her brother? With the Valkyrie? With the Hulk? With her? Or would he be missing what he lost? Dying with boredom and demanding to be entertained. He might have Ravagers looking for them right now, that’s a very high possibility, but they’re too far away from Sakaar, lost in the deep of the galaxy. And if someone like the Grandmaster has not found them so far, then there is nothing to be afraid of.

She also wonders what would be of her if she would have stayed in Sakaar. Perhaps she would have been able to convince En Dwi that she was innocent and that even she had wanted to report her brother’s misbehavior, after all he had favored her in the past. Now all that kind of thoughts are part of the imaginary, something that could have been but it is not. She does not have the time to occupy her mind with such fantasies, she needs to think her next steps carefully and quickly for she doesn’t know how much time she has left, but that it is short. She needs a master plan, something infallible, something clever, something that saves her royal-not-that-royal arse, not to just survive but overcome the situation with her whole self. –Not falling into an abyss and being saved from death by a greater evil. Not hardly surviving to being stab in the chest.– This time she _has_ to come out alive and unharmed.

“Hey princess!” a voice pulls her out of her thoughts. It’s Brunnhilde, she waves a hand laying her body on the window. Behind her there’s a sea of star, the void of universe itself, a thin layer of glass and nothing more separates her from the eternal fall. “Whatcha’ doin’ at this time of the night alone?”

Loki tilts her head, notices the bottle on her hand and the shine on her slightly red eyes, the Valkyrie is drunk but Loki won’t say nothing of it.

“I couldn’t sleep so I decided to go for a walk.” she answers. And she doesn’t lie. Night has been always her best time, where her body and mind worked better. The fact that here in the space it’s always dark and that those bad dreams have become now a current theme in her sleep, is just a small detail that nobody needs to know.

“I see,” says ever suspicious. She narrows her eyes as if she’s trying to read her “Yer want a drink?”

“I could actually use it” sometimes alcohol can help to solve problems that seemed to not have exit, that or at least she would be too drunk to care. She has learned it from her older brother and Odin, and even Mother. Those kind of habits are what still binds all four of them.

The Valkyrie offers her the bottle but she denies it politely and summons a bottle of wine for herself. She unclogs it. Brunnhilde watches her closely, as if she were watching something amusing, and when Loki lift the bottle, she chuckles.

“For still being alive!” she cheers and gives a long drink to her own bottle, Loki stares at her almost puzzled. “Oh c’mon, I can recognize the look of someone that is being haunted,” she freezes in place for a moment. Does she know? How has she come with the knowledge? How much dones she knows? “In my humble opinion if he has not found us so far, I doubt he finds us at all.” And for a moment she lets herself think that the Valkyrie is right and that they are both thinking on the same man.

Loki nods tightly and she, too, gives a long drink to the bottle. The liquid burning down her throat, a reminder that she has selected one of the eldest harvest in her collection and that she won’t leave sober.

They drink in silence, the Valkyrie is not the talkative type and she, for once, doesn’t have much to say, also there’s still some... rough edges in their relationship since Sakaar. They are in this fragile situation where everybody has to get along for greater good, so she may not trust her and Loki may not be interested to prove her wrong but they still have to smile at each other, be friendly and do as if they are incapable of stabbing the other. She does like her, though.

Loki analyzes Brunnhilde’s profile, she doesn’t remove the bottle of her lips even when she isn’t drinking and has her head resting in the window, eyes concentrated in the outer space. Loki notices, now, her eyes are not only irritated by the alcohol. Also that she isn’t that drunk than she intends to.

“The children like you a lot,” tells her out of the nothing. “I wasn’t expecting that, to be honest. With your fame and your looks, but now that I come to think it may just make you more… attractive… to them” Loki cocks an eyebrow, what does her looks have, really? “But what I find more surprising is that you also like them. I saw you the other day sharing your seiðr with a group of them.”

“Yes, well, as you already know there’s a lack of sorcerers and–”

“Nay-nay! Don’t use that with me, Silvertongue, ” there’s some roughness when she uses a finger to poke her. Well, maybe she is a little drunk “I’m talking about that time with those toddlers. The ones that were causing trouble and the minder couldn’t deal with them. I saw how you took them and tell them an story, using your little tricks and they just calmed down. They looked amused… but you, you looked happy.”

There’s a pause, words being eaten by the silence. Loki feels the burden of her words, they didn’t mean to cause that impact, they are actually nice words, but they make her feel that weigh on her chest a knot stuck in her throat. They remember her of another time, golden days, two pairs of twin eyes. They are such a nice words.

She straightens her back and puts her best sarcastic smirk, baring her teeth and opening her arms “What could I say? You got me. I was using them for one of my schemes”

The Valkyrie laughs for the obvious falsehood in those words.

“Say it, you love the toddlers”

“They are such curious creatures, full of potential, those little minds full of pure creativity, mischief, chaos. So yes, you could say we have a lot on common.”

Brunnhilde looks her directly at her eyes and she laughs again “You are a liar.”

“That I am,” she gives her a sincere smile, an instant of total honesty where the truth cannot hurt anybody. She is what she is and she is not ashamed, she’s rather proud of that part, there’s no need to lie… at least for tonight. Loki lifts the wine “Cheers?” and the Valkyrie toast her bottle, there’s a subtle agreement that is signed when they drink.

When she was younger she used to play this game with Thor, there was a time when she lost often, then there was a time where she didn’t. There was a particular time when Mother had found them in the stables just too much drunk and her anger had been more menacing than a bilgesnipe, even than Father’s –and the worst had been taken by Thor, badly influencing to his little then-brother. There was a time when they played the game far too often, and there was a time when they both used it as an excuse to get in each other’s bed.

“You don’t seem to like them but yet you don’t find the reasons to dislike them at all,” Loki says and she isn’t talking about the toddlers. “In fact they are not as bad as you thought.” Maybe it was just you all the time, she wants to add but doesn’t.

“Who we are talking again?” The Valkyrie says, nevertheless she drinks and Loki follows. And oh, that last drink was something else, she can feel a light buzz blurring her mind “It isn’t that they hate you or dislike you, well actually some of them do but not all of them. They just distrust you, and you can’t complain because you have given them reasons.”

And Loki is not sure who are they talking… Well they both know, but they can play this little game a little more, they are not truly lying after all. They drink together, in sync.

There was a moment when she was ruling Asgard as Odin, when she realized that the people were just… people, that they all woke up in the morning, got up, put an illusion spell on themselves and then they went out to the world, to keep the show on. People that are capable of both good and evil, and people that still are capable of loving and being loved, despite their flaws. People that at the end of the day, the only thing that they want is to live a good life.

It makes her think how odd and uneasy that realization must feel for people like the Valkyrie, people that woke up one day, got up with so much effort and put their illusion spell, and then the promise of a good life was shattered in front of their eyes. And after that they committed this unforgivable worst mistake, the one that changed their life and the life of those who they hold dear.

“You can always get a new start. Flee from wherever you are and find a fancy new planet, with a all-new all-fancy Grandsmaster. That is always an option, is it not?”

Brunnhilde chuckles, and puts a sarcastic sour smile in her face “But what good is that if the other day you’re going to wake up and you still are gonna be… yourself?”

Then there’s that pause again, that silence. Loki drinks and the Valkyrie follows her.

Loki chuckles “Then I would have to kill all those who oppose me and stay with the ones that get along with me?”

She doesn’t know why she‘s said that. It is not like she doesn’t mean it –does she?– but it is not something that she would say out loud. This sincerity thing will kill her someday, that’s why she lies. –Is it?–

She catches the Valkyrie laughing “You would _not_ do that.”

“Why wouldn’t I?” she ask with a tone more bold than she meant.

“Because of him.”

For a moment her heart skips a beat, that is painful and dangerous.

She ask herself how much does this woman knows? It’s not a secret the true nature of the relationship she has with her brother. It never was, the rumors have always surrounded them, but still. Nobody has confronted her in all her life about that, except a few and very subtle times Frigga and Heimdall. But over time they seemed forget all their doubts, or just learned to ignore them.

Loki wants to deny all of that but before she tries, the Valkyrie blurst out again. “Do not do that!” There’s so much roughness in her voice, so much bitterness and despair “Don’t deny that you-- you _want_ him, because that is the only thing that you will never be over.”

Loki thinks for a moment that the glass behind Brunnhilde is going to shatter and that she’s going to have to see the Valkyrie be sucked by the abyss and swallowed, and the it is going to come for her. 

“You think that because you have him now, that’s enough. But that is not enough, they need to know that they also have you too. And you can’t deny that. Because at the end, when everything falls down and you are the one left alive there’s nothing more. Nothing more than you and all your regrets. And you don’t know how that feels, you have no idea. I swear to the Norns Loki. Don’t ever deny it.” 

Silence again. Loki thinks. Loki overthinks.

And then she just drinks and does not say a word, she doesn’t want to, she doesn’t need to, she does not say what to say. Brunnhilde also drinks and then she wipes the tears that nobody saw. They stay like that for a while.

Loki is just fine with that. She has never been an enemy of the silence. Yes, words are exciting and more powerful than the people believe, words are shapeshifters they can take the shape of a knife, a sweet caress, a treasure, words are always riddles and metaphors and they don’t just have one meaning. But silence, silence is even powerful, darker and _safer_.

In silence she realizes what she has to do. And she has known for a while but she has refused to accept it. Now she knows there’s no other way, now she knows the truth, and the truth has always been a hard and sour drink to her.

Loki must leave, must run far away and farther. This is the least bad of evils. Where she lives, where people live, where Thor lives. This is her biggest trick, her wildcard. The one that may assure a home for the day she decides to come back. She must leave, for As– for T– For herself.

 

**.**

  
“ _It’s_ _sweeter_ _than_ _heaven_  
 _but_ _straight_ _from_ _hell_.” *****

 

  
“LOKI!”

Liesmith, Silvertongue, Laevisi, Princess of lies, Bölvasmiđr, thief of a number of extravagant things, originator of deceit, Áss Ragr –one of her personally favorites–, Trickster... Truly, Thor _should_ know better that sooner or later her mischievous nature would show up and make her do fun stuff, little pranks, a pinch of chaos. No, no, Thor already knows better but that doesn’t stop him from wanting to wrap his arms around her neck and electrocute her where she lies.

“Where are you Slægi Áss?” Oh she forgot that one.

Heavy footsteps echoes the room, her heart beats furiously and painfully against her chest and she wants to stick to the marble until she’s one with it. This is the dynamic they’ve shared this last decade. Well, truth be told, Loki has always been up to some mischief and Thor has always be there someway, sometimes he was her accomplice, sometimes he even was the one who came with the idea and sometimes, like this time and the past years, he’s the punisher.

“I swear for Bor’s bones if you don’t answer me I’ll–”

She’s as terrified as amused, there’s a laught caught between her teeth which she holds for her own sake.

Ozone filling the air and making it tighter. She straightens her back and compose herself. A trickster must live up her trick, a liar must always have more tales under her sleeve.

“Yes, brother? I am here” Loki answers with a consciously too innocent voice.

Those thunderous footsteps fill the room again and then they stop, just for the door to be slammed against the wall and she is sure that the whole ship has shivered.

Loki gets up from the bathtub, on one side, because at least that way she has a chance of running away and on the other side; Thor looks at her very naked and very wet body from shoulders to toes and then from toes to face. She smiles at him, in a silent sing of victory, canting her hips.

“In what can I help you brother dearest?” she teases again far too innocent for a Loki.

Thor tries to summon that berserker rage he had when he came, he really tries to “Don’t.”

“What?” she tilts her head a little, one hand travels from her torso to her upper lip “Is something wrong?”

The King of Asgard is almost wordless, he stutters and then gives a frustrated sigh. Loki takes that moment to get out of the tub, her mind already forming a new scheme for the day.

Thor rubs his temples as he speaks “You exactly know what, Loki. I know your tricks.”

“ _Oh_. Do you?” such a clever man her big brother has become. Loki decides to approach him step by step, slowly, carefully, almost hunting him.

They both know this kind of dance, this little game of hunters and predators, no innocent preys nor shy maidens who fear a little dancing. It’s a foreign language, a subtle and encrypted one, and they know it well. And above all, after years and years, they know how to play it with each other, how to read it. It’s the lust that bites their veins while they dance in the border of the abyss.

Thor does not say a word, looks her directly in her eyes, and she does the same as she keeps walking towards him relentlessly. There’s a rare sweetness in the wait, there’s tasting in the impatience. And she knows that Thor knows, her schemes are exposed to the light.

“You know that I do,” he says, his voice is low but rough and coarse. He folds his arms around his torso, making himself bigger “I am being serious on this. I am not here to _play_ with your tricks, Loki.”

Loki stops a few meters away from Thor. She wants to frown but instead smiles “Oh but, dear brother of mine, you forgot about something,” and then she appears right in front of him, grabbing those thick arms of his and pinning him with her body.

Loki has to keep her head lifted to not break the look, narrowing her eyes she tells him “I never play.”

“Loki” Thor growls, his muscles tense, his eyes darken with an intensity that would sow pure terror in the heart of any fool that dares to oppose this man, this pagan deity.

But this kind of terror is not unknown to Loki. All the red flags are fluttering in the imaginative of her mind, not as warning sign but rather as a kind of your-food-is-ready alarm.

She chuckles, her veins boiling with pure amusement and anticipation.

“Thor,” and then when realization hits her brother’s eyes it’s too late, hunted hunter, she has vanishes his closes and then she’s behind him whispering in his ear, “I think you need to relax”

She can hear the start of a threat but ignores it, then with in a blink of an eye, she transports them to the tub.

The water waves wildly around them and overflows the tub falling directly to the floor, she does not care at all. But Thor doesn’t seem to share her feelings, he jolts furiously an curses everything that crosses his mind –mostly it’s her–. Like an angry and wet bilgesnipe trapped in a bathtub. It’s kind of funny and this time she cannot, she does not want to, stop her laughing.

Thor keeps growling, there are more explicit threats which Loki takes with a pinch of salt. It’s been tough days for the new Allfather, she knows the vicissitudes and intricacies that come with ruling a realm like Asgard. It is worse now with their new status. Good for her she is not the Allfather anymore, bad for her brother.

“I say you needed to relax, brother,” repeats wrapping her hands in both of his shoulders, he is still giving her his back. She traces his muscles in soothing motion “Will you unhear my counsel once more?”

“Your counsel is self-indulgent and self-centered, not to mention a waste of time, and I still have things to do. Asgard needs me” there’s no malice or roughness in his voice but actual consternation.

“Asgard needs a King in his senses not this moody lad that lose his temper at the slightest inconvenience,” she tells him, and then he heaves like if her words had sinked deep in him and his body had followed. Loki has won this little battle “Now, indulge me and obey my wise advice.”

She presses her digits in specific points and starts working on them. Her brother makes a low growl, this time is different from the others almost like a cat’s purr –or a happy bilgesnipe–. Thor always eager for physical contact, always craving for this specific form of affection, even more when it comes from her, leans into the touch and finally relaxes his muscles.

Pride swells her chest, another victory to her count. At least she still knows how to play this side of his brother, that hasn’t changed. She is undecided whether that is good or bad. Changes are always good, always welcome, but how much can one change without completely forgetting who one is? And if one doesn’t change, one doesn’t move, one becomes stuck, trapped in the ground of Sakaar or much worse… She shudders and focuses on her work.

A Thundered pleased is a harmless Thundered. And a harmless Thundered is a living Loki, and with a little luck a pleased Loki too.

Loki circles her fingers around her brother’s broad shoulders, the start of his nape. He growls again and angles his head to give her more access, she traces her fingers up his neck until she crosses certain mark. Black ink sewn to the skin, sharp and a little crooked lines as if they where handmade; the rune Thurisaz. It’s been a life time since she made it with a needle, a little ink and lot of mead on her blood, she almost forgot it.

Suddenly the images of a obstreperous past days flood her mind, savage times were she had been young and wild and so full of fear which made her even more reckless and presumptuous. Many errors had been made those times, lot of mischief and little wicked pranks, and another lot of retaliation had been taken; a turbulent time indeed. But now she finds that she’s rather fond of that time. And how can she not? She’s the Goddess of mischief after all. And above all she hadn’t been alone.

No, during that time it was always the two of them, two prankster, two mischief makers, two brothers –sometimes siblings–, two children in love, two young infatuated with each other and the idea chaos, and always one same body and soul. With hindsight it was rather a short time in their lives; what is but a few decades in the life of Gods? What are a few childish promises and oaths and shared dreams against the persons they have become, the things that they have made to become in this persons? Is there any value all that sentimental stuff for Thor? Because for Loki… for Loki it’s…

She hears a familiar voice at the distance and all of the sudden she’s in the present again. Her brother has a hand in her hip bone, where her own rune is sewn in her skin as a sign that those times were real and it had felt like that was what life was about. Thor and Loki tricking Thrym, playing Skrýmir’s little games, pranking equally Æsir and Jotnar or whoever who had the misfortune to cross their path. Thor and Loki fighting together, hunting together, laughing together, making love, marking themselves with ink; a pact of mutual belonging. A thread that unites them together and forever. Something that can’t be erased, something injected in their skins, a proof that once they were two against everything else.

A blue familiar song plays over the room.

 _Ah_ that last chitchat with the Valkyrie must have softened her.

“What were you saying?” she ask, her voice trembles without her permission.

“I said I did not think you could remember that song,” he answers calmly.

That mazes her “Pardon me?”

Thor laughs a little running a thumb along her rune and Loki has to repress a sigh.

“I should have figured out, you were too little for that time. Even more than now,” he’s teasing her, she knows that, she frowns and growls but it doesn’t stop him from talking. “This song, all this record, is the one that Mother used to play when she bathed us when we were kids.”

She blinks. The mention of Mother– _of_ _Lady_ _Frigga_?–, the mention of a far away childhood, a time more uncertain than the one she was remembering moments ago, something pierced to the bones, it sends an odd wave around her body.

“Oh, I didn’t know-- I just felt-- draw by the record, I suppose.”

“It makes sense you used to adore it,” there’s an huge stupid smile in his face, almost as if he longed for something. Yet another thing that was left in the past and cannot come back “You adored it so much that you used to come for me, wherever I was, and drag me with you so _you_ could convince Mother to bath us.”

“I was a child!” _ugh_ … that sounds weak. Words tangled in her precious silvertongue, she’s left with nothing to say; no lies nor truths.

“Of course you were. And I have to say, sister, you were a stubborn and clever little child. You always have been,” Loki feels her whole body go hot with shame, a feeling she thought she was over but somehow it always managed to come back. Oh and her brother hasn’t finished, he has yet more. “You used to make the most creative excuse I’ve heard all my life”

“Well… you were Asgard’s most precious weapon, her golden muscle. Someone had to be the brain, and I happened to be in desperate need for my own place.” she tells him, she intends to tease him like he has been doing but it comes out a little more truthful and bitter than she plans.

Nevertheless Thor doesn’t seem to notice, or, he disregards it. Like he’s always done –yet another thing that hasn’t change–. He even dares to laugh, the bastard. –Wasn’t that better than he acknowledged her and then having to endure a nasty and open-hearted talk about their complicated story and relationship?, anyways.– He continues speaking as if nothing happened.

“You were so clever that one day you realized you didn’t need any excuses to pass time with me, you only needed to come running and yell ‘ _Storebror_ , _storebror_!’ and then I was at your sly feet following you like a pup’s hound,” Loki would be pass from the line of embarrassed if she wouldn’t have caught the underline of this revelation. “You knew that you had me. You knew you’ve got me wrapped around your finger, and I also knew it, and we were happy. Because in the end that also meant that I had you.”

And then it is her the one who is caught under it, there’s so much longing in her brother’s voice. A homesickness for a home that now is dust, fading whispers and expired spells. The very fool longes for a tale. Hasn’t he learned? The one who doesn’t move with the flow, is the one who loses.

And, oh, he _needs_ to move on. They _both_ need to keep moving. _She_ _needs_ _to_.

In a rapid move she’s straddling him, the water waves and falls to the floor for a second time, no one of them pays attention again. Loki looks at Thor’s eye directly, piercingly, like if she were holding a dagger against his throat, and Thor like always holds her gaze. One of her hands sinks her nails in one shoulder and the other travels down his torso to find that he’s already stiff.

“Enough talking.” Loki says, Loki orders. And then she kisses him and he’s kissing her back with such hunger and fierce, holding her hips as if she were a criminal who’s bones deserve to be crushed. And then she takes him.

“ _Við_ _tætum_ _tryllt_ _af stað. Út i óvissuna þar_  
Til að við rustum öllu og reisum aftur   
Aftur a ný. Aftur a ný. Aftur a ný   
Aftur a bak þar sem við riðum” says the song. If it had live it seems it would be mad at them, perhaps because they dare to forget its existence.

She takes everything of him, every sour part and all the pain she has been giving him. She takes it. It pleases her. She starts moving with a merciless pace, Thor breaks the kiss to hide his face in her neck and crushes her with the weight of his both arm. She accepts that too, she accepts the bite that comes after that too. Loki wraps her arms around his neck because she has always hated this part of their relationship. But she accepts it and so she loves it.

“ _Aftur með gaddavi. Sem rifur upp gamalt gróið sar_  
Er orðinn ryðguð sal. Rafmagnið buið   
Mig langar að skera. Og rista sjalfan mig a hol   
En þori það ekki Frekar slekk ég a mér   
Aleinn a ný” also says the song that now wraps around them, like serpent around its prey, tying them together and forever.

And no one of them is crying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *1 Natalie Wee “Asami writes to Korra for Three Years” in Wildness Journal.  
> *2 Theodore Roethke from The Collected Poems.
> 
> The song is called “Ný batterí” by Sigur Rós. (One of my dearest and faves bands, btw)
> 
> Sorry for the delay, again, I hope the next chapter will be uploaded in time.   
> If you liked this and if you want you can leave a kudo, a comment, an offering in my bank account (dm for that).


	6. Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life is the moment between two nonexistence; the eye of the storm. All they can do is to stay close of one another to share the heat despite their spines, as hedgehogs in the middle of a storm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We finally come to the end. Wow, this an achievement for me it a lot of ways, I can’t believe it. Anyways, thanks for reading it and be there despite the delays and the nonexistent updating schelude. I can’t help it, sorry. 
> 
> So well that’s all, now I let you read the thing and I really hope you enjoy it as much as I did. And if you did and want leave a kudo, a comment, whatever you like.

“ _And_ _sometimes_ _just_ _the_ _knife_ ,  
_Just_ _for_ _love_.” *****

  
The constellations pass through the window like a squall of rabid fallling-down stars. Thor has known the skies like its god and like a enthralled man. He has learned of it through the tales of his people during childhood, through the lessons of his youth, through the expeditions and feats of his manhood, and also through the knowledge that humans had achieved –Jane had been an excellent partner to enlighten him with it and in return he had shared his own knowledge–.

Nevertheless it has always managed to surprise him to the point of making him quite uneasy and a bit more eager to know it. There’s something alluring in that endless ocean of burning planets and deep darkness; an unknown silence full of secrets, danger and raw power. It has sometimes made him angry; the mighty Thor of Asgard cannot reach something he wants, will never completely tame the skies, because it is simply too much for him. That knowledge has made him both worship and fear the outer skies.

Since the moment he realized that, Thor has wanted to know it as best as he is able. And even better. So he has passed a generous amount of his life knowing and traveling the deep skies and collecting knowledge. He has seen and feel in the very flesh some of the uncertainties and mysteries it hides, he has experienced enough of those uncertainties and mysteries to know that they’re endless and of unimaginable forms.

Thor knows; the skies are the forever unknown. But he also knows that even it follows an ancient and primitive code; a bloodline that connects it with him and with everything that he knows.

That is, perhaps, the only rule the universe is willing to follow.

Loki shift in his sleep for Thor-hasn’t-count-but-he-has-no-doubt-it’s-been-plenty times and grunts something unintelligible. He wants to think that even unconscious, Loki demands and claims all his attention. But something tells him that this time it’s not that what causes his brother’s uneasiness. Something tells Thor that the cause of it is the same something that’s plaguing his own sleep, even privates him from resting now. That same something that has always haunted him: the unknown.

Thor knows Loki enough, at least, to know that. He may not know the roots and the depth of what’s haunting him, he doesn’t even know for sure what it is. But Thor can clearly see that the unknown is haunting Loki ever since Sakaar and, perhaps, before that. And Thor also knows for sure that Loki is hiding something from him.

His brother always so secretive, always working in the shadows and shifting to his likes, always hiding a trick under his sleeves and always keeping his wishes, nightmares and dreams under the sharp border of his tongue. There’s nothing unknown in those things, that is Loki’s intrinsic nature. Loki is his silence, his secrets, twisting shadows, danger and untamed raw power.

Thor doesn’t know if he first loved Loki or the skies. Neither he desires to know.

No, what he desires now and always, and until the end of his days, is to touch Loki. Hold some piece of this force of nature in the shape of his brother between his arms.  
And Thor is his whims, his desires. He has never been known to deny himself of fulfilling his urgencies; what he wants, he gets it. So he traces his fingers along Loki’s spine, the lean muscles of his back, the fines bones of his ribs covered by a cape of pale thin skin and, also, those scars. Awful and rough patches of deformed skin, scattered all over his body, ruining his used-to-be pristine pale skin. There are so many, Thor does not dare to count. But he dares to trail them.

Loki shudders abruptly and draws away from his touch. Then he is grunting again and shifting towards him.

“Did you lose something, brother?” he inquires scornfully, eyebrows frown as if he had insulted him.

Thor cannot suppress the smile, Loki’s face looks so gracious when he pouts. His nose puckers in an adorable way, it has always softened him and he has always adored it.

“Well, I have lost a number of things recently,” answers with too much honestly for a rhetoric question. He’s already regretting his choice of words.

Loki presses his lips in a line, it’s almost as if he’s regretting asking or, perhaps, he’s also judging Thor’s choice of words. Nevertheless his brother doesn’t say anything, just stares silently at him.

“I have to say I did not think well what I said,” Thor says to fill the silence.

Loki shakes his head and puts that silvertongue to use. “On the contrary, brother, I think you knew well,” there’s certain sharp edge to slice him for his mistakes. But nothing letal, nothing poisonous. His words are smooth, almost sweet. Thor thinks that things like those must be just as dangerous for beings like his brother. Aside and absently from that, his brother keeps talking; “Honestly and literalness has always been your thing… kind of.”

“Funny thing that yours are words, don’t you think?”

Loki makes a half mirthful smile and laughs softly, Thor would join his laugh but he’s too far lost between the sincerity of that grimace and this exactly dying moment.

He lift his hands once more to touch Loki and for a moment Thor thinks that he’s going to flinch away, but he doesn’t. After a moment Loki relaxes under his touch and Thor can feel the cool skin of his cheek.

Lying as they are, in this position, they can’t do another thing than look into each other’s eyes –eye for him–. At last something that is not unknown, but the opposite, a too familiar expression.

Thor runs his thumb along the line of Loki’s cheekbone and then trails it one more time with all his finger, slicing his hand to grip the back of his neck. Loki does not say a word, does not shut his eyes, and Thor forgets the difference between danger and enticing. If there’s a difference. All the words are made up, anyways.

In Loki as in the skies those words lose all significance. Or it could be that they melt together until there’s no borders. Until it becomes a particular shine in Loki’s evergreen eyes. What are you hiding from me, brother? What is it that you so fervently want to keep to yourself?, Thor wants to say. But he doesn’t. I wish you could tell me.

Instead he tugs Loki towards him and just kisses him. As rough and punishing as he wants, as he can. And Loki just responds, just kisses him hungrily and willing to be used as Thor wishes. And Thor only wishes to touch Loki. But Loki’s wishes, those, are unknown.

His brother mumbles something sharp, dangerous and unintelligible. Thor can’t hear. He can’t understand what he means. Perhaps was an spell, perhaps he’s just been bewitched. But Thor does not care, he only desires.

And Loki bites him and bites him. And kisses him, and touches him, and gets between his legs, and fucks him or devours him, Thor doesn’t know anymore.

  
.

 

“ _Some_ _words_ _are_ _doomed_  
_like_ _lilacs_ _in_ _a_ _storm_.” *****

  
“I will explain your case to my friend Korg, he’s the leader of the group, I think he will resolve this… situation,” Thor explains patiently, cordially, confident as a King should be. He looks Conchobar at his eyes and makes sure that his smile is polite, not mirthful neither sympathetic. Politics always must be taken with the right amount of severity and they have to be welcome. “However I am sure this must be a misunderstanding,” he continues and he can see that the elder man is about to complain. Thor stops him with a move of his hand. “Do not worry, Nessjarson, I will see this matter resolved. That I assure you.”

And the ex Jarl of a now nonexistent land seems to accept that. He’s not satisfied, Thor can notice, but he does not dare to refute the King. He has already achieved what he came for, anyways. Then Conchobar politely nods and bows before leaving, Thor dismisses him in a equally formally way.

When he’s finally left alone in the throne room, he sighs and massages his temples. After a long day to the service of his kingdom he feels more than tired, he feels exhausted. It must be the not-so-metaphorically weigh of Asgard in his shoulders. He would happily retire to his bedchambers to finally rest as he deserves, but that is not something he is going to do… not just yet. There’s another matter he must attend.

Thor takes some minutes for himself, he thinks of them as a well deserve break where he shuts his eyes and pretends he’s resting. It’s an indulgence, a small selfish act, but he likes to think he has a good excuse to do such a thing. He’s the King after all, he can have this, he can indulge himself. As long it is in small and restrictive portions.

Then he gets up from his seat, feeling his muscles sore from the long hours of stillness and stretches. And just then, he parts his way.

First he goes to the kitchen where he finds people so invested in doing the preparations for the dinner of tonight, that they do not notice his presence. They do not stop their actions and straighten their backs looking at him as if they were in presence of someone hostil, nobody greets him and everything seems to follow certain rhythm. Some daily melody they are used to listen. Thor feels satisfied even if it’s not here what he came for –a part of his mind already knew that–,he continues his path.

In the hallways he meets the brother and sister from that one time in the healing halls. Now they are running and laughing, playing as the toddlers they are. They do greet him in a not at all formal way. The adult that is trying to chase them cringes and yells something that the kids ignore. Thor laughs and greets the kids and the young woman that it’s already apologizing for the kids misbehavior. He laughs about that, as if he would mind such a thing. The maiden does not lose time in following the kids. Thor wonders if she is related to them, maybe she’s their older sister. He hopes.

Then he’s behind the glass door of the control room, from there he can see more people focused in their work. Asgardians women, asgardian man, simply asgardians. Asgard’s people. His people. Working together, cooperating together, to help his kingdom and to help themselves. He stays there for a moment, he does not dare to enter the room rather he just watches them as he were in presence of something special. Something that’s always been in front of his eyes and for a time he had become used to the sight. And just until now he can see its beauty, and just now he can see the extraordinary in this scene.  
Anyways, what he’s looking it’s not here either, so he resumes his search.

He passes through the healing hall and sees the door open. He finds with yet another dally scenenario. There aren’t patients, just the healers enjoying some free time. So he follows his way to the hall room, which judging for the time it should still be functioning as the training room. And indeed it is.

Thor watches the Valkyrie fight against the Hulk, who’s surprisingly having a hard time defending himself and not getting knocked. Certainly she is a formidable warrior, he shouldn’t be surprised after all she is Valkyrie. –Her ferocity could even be compared to his own fight against the Hulk… Perhaps.–

There’s a small crowd of people, mostly young ones, watching them and cheering up. They must be part of the army of warriors, the few who survived and the new ones who are still learning. It’s good to have someone as Brunnhilde among them, she can teach them into the old noble tradition and make of them honorable warriors... It is good to have the Hulk as well, not just as a walking and temperamental quintain, of course, but also as another role model from who to learn… And then there’s Banner too. Deep down under all those green muscles and childish heavy brain.

Thor allows himself another short break to watch them fight and promises that, when he finds the time, he will join them too. Who better to train a kingdom’s army than his own King? Also there’s still this little argument he has to resolve with the Hulk or/and Banner. Nothing to worry about, just to clear the name of the real stronger Avenger.

He hears footsteps approaching from behind him, the sound they make when they hit the floor is one heavy but smooth. He knows those footsteps from all his life, they’re as unique as unmistakable. Thor has known none with that ability. The one of communicating with no words at all, subtle motions that tell everything and all-knowing looks, and yet the man remains a mystery.

“Heimdall, I am very glad to see you, my friend,” he tells him, turning to look at his familiar eyes, it fills him with a feeling of warm comfort. Thor gives Heimdall a sincere smile, those ones that he’s able to make just when he’s near of someone he truly trust and loves, a real friend.

The Gatekeeper nods firmly, he’s always been a man of few words, anyways Thor finds certain fondness in his action. They turn to watch the battle.

“Have you come to join them? I think the Hulk could really use an ally,” they watch as the green beast is reduced to pathetically cover his ridiculously huge body with an arm as he’s attacked. The Valkyrie has no mercy even for the one she calls friend.

And for once Heimdall does something unusual, he chuckles.

“She’s a fierce woman.” The Gatekeeper says, and Thor knows what he means. He is also glad to have her between them.

The Hulk finally yields, completely defeated and humiliated after being hold in a headlock.

“Indeed she is,” he says. There’s more of that normalcy in the scene, certain sense of calm and peace. “You were right, now I can see it and I have no doubts. We are still here and we are going to make it. I have a good feeling.”

Heimdall does not say a word just squeezes his shoulder. This is the form he says ‘You are welcome. Whenever you feel bad you can come and tell me.’ and Thor is more than grateful for that.

“But something tells me that’s not why you came here. Neither it is for watching the Hulk being beaten up.” this time he turns again to look at his eyes.

“You have become quiet perceptive, My King.”

“It was about time,” Thor chuckles. “So you do have something for me,”

Heimdall nods and narrows his eyes, he still has his hand squeezing Thor’s shoulder. “He is heading to the hangar.” he tells him in a monotone voice. And Thor’s heart skips a beat.

“Ah,” Thor gasp, there’s an storm forming inside him but he can’t say that he’s been taken aback. He already was expecting it. It just that it still hurts. “Of course! I should have known. What better place to go?” still the situation it’s kind of laughable. Thor has been looking for him all this time, of course he has been slipping away of him. That sly slippery snake!

“If you pardon my meddling, I think that the both of you should talk.”

Thor presses his lips and nods. Then stretches the muscles of his back and begins to walk. But before he goes out, he turns to Heimdall for a last time, smiles and tells him. “Thank you, Heimdall.”

The Gatekeeper nods in silence, he notices the glimpse of a smile on his face, and Thor goes.

He takes the shortcut, quickens his pace just a little, and then a little more. If his heart is pounding against his chest, it must be for that same reason. Here on the space everything seems to go faster; his pace, the beating of his heart, the world spinning, the rush of the feeling, the sentiment of lose and the sentiment of found, the time. The time that runs when you are going late and when you look back. It all is just a side effect of traveling the space, clearly, but it feels real enough.

Thor arrives the hangar sooner than he expected, none is around and there’s this sense of lightness that plagues the place. It’s almost soothing. The Commodore is still parked, it does not seem that someone is inside. He runs a look for the place one more time, feels the air through his hand and skin, the sense of lightness is real. It looks peaceful.

So he hasn’t arrived yet. So he is coming. So Thor walks to a corner of the room where he stays and waits patiently. The minutes pass, fast or slow, it’s the all same to him. Until he hears steps coming, which are definitely and bloody familiar, he straightens his back and keeps waiting. Arms crossed, finger tapping in his biceps.

Loki enters the hangar, keeps walking to the ship, passes in front of him without even realizing and just stops when he’s meters away from The Commodore. He stands there, hands stirring, then he crosses his arms to his chest, then takes a deep breath and uncrosses them. He looks to his sides and then to the ship, as if he were searching for something. Thor silently watches every action of him, he remains unnoticed but he does notices Loki fidgeting his fingers.

Thor takes an step and clears his throat. “I do not think you forgot anything,” he says. Loki shudders violently, turning towards him and looking at him in the eyes. “Except, well you did forget something. Your farewell, brother.” The look on his brother too opened eyes is one of surprise and some emotions revolving. The silvertongue has been caught on the crime scene and now his tongue seems tangled.

There’s silence, Loki just freezes there, his hands cover one another. Thor decides to approach him until he’s but barely centimeters away.

“Brother I…” Loki starts but then losses. He sighs closing his eyes and after a moment he opens them, smiles in that mischievous way of his and extends his arms nonchalantly. “It’s not what it looks like. Except I suppose it probably is.”

Thor does not buy that. He smiles at him, fondly, and wraps a hand around the back of Loki’s neck.

“Still, you could have told me,”

Loki scowls, crosses his arms in his chest again and turns his eyes to other side, but doesn’t flinch away of his touch.

“You would not understand and I cannot explain,” Loki murmurs in a whisper so low that is barely audible. “I just can’t,”

“It’s harder if you don’t even try,” Thor tells him, still looking at his brother’s face. He runs a thumb through his column. “What is it Loki? What are you running from? What are you hiding from me?

And as if he has said something insulting Loki growls, pulls away of his touch and walks to the glass window of his side.

“Not everything has to do with you, you know. And it’s not fucking business anyways.” he hisses and there’s venom in his voice, a real poisonous rage purposely misplaced to make him bite the bait. But Thor doesn’t, not anymore –or so he tries.–

“See that’s where you are wrong. It is my business since it involves you,” Loki clenches his fist and scolds, like a children being denied of what he wants or like a man trying to communicate something inexplicable. “Whatever it is, Loki, I can resolve it. If you need help, well, I am here to help you,” Thor tells him, standing by his side, he wants to touch him. He wants to hold his little brother and tie him to his side, have him between his arms where he belongs and make sure nothing wrong happens to him. Thor wants to make Loki stay with him more than anything he has ever wanted.

“I do not need your protection, Thor!” But those are Thor’s desires.

“Then we can fight it together! I know you don’t need it, you have demonstrated that. All I’m saying is that I want to be by your side,” the burning rush of the emotions, the ferocity with which his hearts beats, the fragility between gaining and losing, they all are words that bite his tongue and they all slip away. “You are my brother and _my_ … equal!” or almost, sometimes they are just too dangerous.

There’s a pause, Loki chuckles and relaxes. “You are the biggest fool I’ve ever known, and believe me I’ve known oh so many fools,”

Thor laughs for all the times he has heard him say that. Then crosses his arms around his chest and watches the constellations in constant motion.

Loki shakes his head, smiling and staring at the window. Then he says “Do you really think it is a good idea to go back to earth?”

Thor smiles because he has won this battle and looks at his brother.

“Yes of course, the people of Earth love me. I’m very popular.”

“Let me rephrase that. Do you really think it’s a good idea to bring me back to Earth?”

He blinks, well. “Probably not, to be honest” he simply answers, and there’s something amusing in being so lethally honest. And the god of lies seems to notice it. “I wouldn’t worry, brother, I feel like everything is gonna work out fine.” He says for a second time, and this time he can taste the saccharine freshness of those words.

Hope can be intoxicating as it can be short and lethal.

A shadow comes from nowhere and covers them both.

Thor soon learns another lethal word.

 

 _Thanos_.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *1. Miguel Hernández from “Before Hatred, Thirsting,”  
> *2. Alejandra Pizarnik from “Night, the poem”


End file.
